


cursing my name (wishing I’d stayed)

by peaceoutofthepieces



Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, Lockdown Fic, M/M, Roommates, elippoweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:08:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25687072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peaceoutofthepieces/pseuds/peaceoutofthepieces
Summary: Filippo is pleasantly surprised when, only a day after presenting his offer, Elia shows up at his door.The feeling is a little less pleasant when he notices the tired bruises under his eyes.Elia offers him a small, slightly shy smile that completely goes against yesterday’s teasing. “You still looking for that roommate?”Filippo puts on a wide smile and throws the door open, tossing his arm out with a flourish. “Welcome to La Casa de Filippo.”
Relationships: Elia Santini/Filippo Sava
Comments: 3
Kudos: 76





	cursing my name (wishing I’d stayed)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a lockdown fic and has some discussions of the pandemic and quarantine, if anyone is looking to avoid that. Mostly though it’s these two being idiots for quite a while before they finally get together. 
> 
> This is AU in that the timeline is different, so imagine their canon scene at the end of season 4 occurring at maybe a Christmas party instead! Because of this, it also happens while Elia is still in his last year of school. 
> 
> I’ve never written for Elippo before so I’m sorry if it doesn’t fit their characters, but please let me know what you think!

Filippo is pleasantly surprised when, only a day after presenting his offer, Elia shows up at his door. 

The feeling is a little less pleasant when he notices the tired bruises under his eyes. 

Elia offers him a small, slightly shy smile that completely goes against yesterday’s teasing. “You still looking for that roommate?”

Filippo puts on a wide smile and throws the door open, tossing his arm out with a flourish. “Welcome to La Casa de Filippo.”

Filippo has never really known what to expect from Elia. He often considers himself a good judge of character. He’s intuitive enough, pays enough attention, that he can figure them out pretty quickly. Martino, for example, was pretty easy to crack. The girls, all of his sister’s little group of friends, he understands. Niccoló, he’s become pretty familiar with. Giovanni and Luca are simple enough boys, that Filippo has extra insight to thanks to their respective significant others. Elia, though...Elia proves to be a bit of an enigma. 

Filippo allows himself the excuse that they don’t know each other that well, and in truth, they’ve been given very few opportunities to actually interact. They’ve seen each other in their recent group outings and have had a few meaningless conversations, shared a few passing smiles and greetings. They have, Filippo supposes, become familiar enough to comfortably joke around. Still, Filippo mostly remembers Elia as the boy his sister had tried and failed to set Silvia up with. Or, even more broadly, as Martino’s friend. The pretty boy, the party boy, the prankster. From what Filippo has seen of him, he hasn’t even fit that image. In every one of their interactions, Elia has been much quieter, softer, than he expected, and it’s made him more than a little curious. 

So of course, when he suddenly became the boy with nowhere to go, Filippo had to at least offer. 

He’s maybe been in search of some company, himself. 

Elia doesn’t seem like the worst bargain. 

“I don’t,” Elia starts, stops, when Filippo turns to him, still stuck in the hallway. “I don’t have the money to give you, yet.”

He rubs the back of his neck as he says it, eyes downcast, and Filippo is a little taken aback. It seems a far cry from the joking, almost cocky responses he’d gotten the day before, the teasing Elia had instantly thrown at him. It seems almost twice as genuine. 

Filippo considers him for another moment, from his blue jacket to his scuffed shoes to the large duffel bag hung over his shoulder, packed tight. Possibly in a hurry. 

_He’s just a kid. He shouldn’t have to even be here_ , Filippo thinks. Then, _Ele and I were just kids, too._

Filippo lets his smile soften and waves him off, letting his usual light-hearted lilt slip into his words. “We’ll not worry about that yet. I’m used to taking in strays.”

Elia’s shoulders relax instantly and he knows he’s played the right cards. 

“Come on, then.” Filippo slings an arm around his shoulders and guides him into the apartment. “Let me give you the grand tour.”

~^~

Elia gives credit where credit is due, and in all fairness, Filippo is a pretty good roomie. 

He admits he was dubious at first. He has nothing against Filippo, not in the slightest. All their minor interactions have been pleasant and easy and always somewhat humorous and Elia has come to recognise the entirely likeable aura Filippo emits. He has a way of making people comfortable. Although they’re largely different personalities, Elia feels much the same way around Filippo as he does around Gio. He gets that relaxed feeling, that realisation that he doesn’t have to try as much. It’s easy to exist in Filippo’s presence without judgement. He’s the kind of easygoing that Elia should be desperate for in a roommate. 

It just feels a little bit weird, to feel all that, when Elia doesn’t actually _know_ him. 

Despite how easy his interactions are with Filippo, Elia has always felt that the rareness of them was the best factor. If Filippo never actually got to know him—not _really_ —then he’d be able to keep up the chill atmosphere, the blessed reprieve. If Filippo doesn’t actually know him, then he has no reason to turn and sprint in the other direction. 

But then, well, Martino forgets to keep his mouth shut and Filippo apparently has a way of making Elia’s own lips loose and really, he runs out of other choices. 

Filippo becomes his roommate, and it’s fine. He’s not the tidiest, but neither is Elia, so they both just try to keep their messes to themselves. Neither of them are bad cooks, either, which is beneficial to Elia’s finance situation. Plus, despite Filippo’s initial prodding, he keeps to his word and mostly keeps to himself. He lets Elia settle in without a fuss, but is present enough for them to become familiar. After a few awkward run-ins outside the bathroom of course. Elia is just glad Filippo had seemed even more embarrassed than him, flush creeping obviously right from his chest to his cheeks. It’s the least chill Elia has ever seen him, holding tightly to the towel around his waist and making a hasty escape. Elia is just glad that he’s always thought to take his clothes into the bathroom with him, and a little annoyed that the image has stuck with him. 

Filippo isn’t ugly, either, which is apparently a bit of a bonus. 

They become familiar over hallway encounters and shared meals and late night chats, when they’re both a little more free with their thoughts. It doesn’t take long for Elia to feel like he does know Filippo. It takes even less time for him to decide he’s a lot better off here than at home. 

Then Filippo fully follows through on his promise, and suddenly Elia is being roped into a mini movie night. The projector, at least, does work quite well, and even though he doesn’t know what the film is about (he thinks it’s some artistic, abstract concept that is supposed to entirely elude him), Filippo’s commentary is pretty entertaining. 

And really, Elia doesn’t mind spending time with Filippo at all. 

“See?” Filippo says, when they’re already an hour in, and Elia has been sufficiently sated with warm popcorn and cold beer. “Isn’t this nice?”

Elia quite _likes_ spending time with Filippo. But he isn’t about to admit that. “I mean, it’s no party, but I’ve had worse nights.”

Unsurprisingly, Filippo raises a brow in equal challenge. “Sweetie, have you ever even seen a party?”

Elia raises his brows right back. “You think I haven’t?”

Filippo pouts, as if he’s just said something incredibly precious, and gives him a pat on the cheek. “So cute, when they’re still so young.”

“Fuck you, you’re only three years older than me.”

“Basically enough time for four babies. Your whole little boyband.”

Elia squints at him. Filippo simply smiles. “Since when does being an old man make you the better partier?”

Filippo gasps, and Elia instantly dissolves into laughter. It’s too easy, he thinks, to just exist with Filippo like this. Even as Filippo whips the cushion out from behind his back and hits him with it, Elia can’t comprehend how easy it is. “What happened to _respecting_ the _master_?”

For a while, he’s thought the only way he could possibly live in peace is if he was living alone. He hadn’t imagined socks lying around that aren’t his, clothes mixed up in the wash, needing to time his bathroom usage. He hadn’t thought loud and bright and colourful would be his reprieve. But Filippo is all of these things, and Filippo’s apartment has grown to match him, and Elia feels very at peace in it. 

It’s strange, still, but no longer scary, no longer uncomfortable. He’s happy in the peace Filippo brings him. 

He isn’t sure what he brings to Filippo, until it suddenly becomes very obvious. 

It’s late afternoon when Filippo knocks on his open bedroom door, looking uncharacteristically distressed as he peeks around the frame at Elia. When Elia smiles at him, he slips in through the crack and comes to join him on the bed, slumping back against the pillows in full Filippo fashion. Which is to say, with a fairly dramatic flair. “My room’s too quiet. Fucking Angelo broke my speaker. How do you survive with no background music, Elia?”

Elia has no idea who Angelo is. He doesn’t ask. “You never heard of earphones?”

“So contained,” Filippo groans. “It’s not at all the same effect. Earphones are for blocking out, speakers are for locking in. And I have a project that needs locked in ASAP.” He turns mournful, hopeful eyes up at Elia, and Elia hates how easy he is. “Can I finish it up in here with some actual background noise? I promise you won’t even know I’m here. I’ll just sit at that desk with my laptop and you just sit right here and do whatever you were already doing.”

Elia can’t see any real reason to say no. He sighs, but waves Filippo away with a nod. Filippo grins, and he launches himself up to give Elia a peck on the cheek before flying out of the room and back to his own. Elia rubs a hand over his cheek and sinks back against his pillows with another sigh. 

It’s only seconds before Filippo returns with laptop in hand. He offers Elia another grin and then settles himself at the desk after pushing some of Elia’s mess out of his way. Elia goes back to his phone. 

It’s only when he realises Filippo himself is creating more background noise than him that he grows a little confused, and finally glances up to notice the older boy’s jitters. His left foot taps repeatedly against the floor, his knee bouncing. His fingers drum a constant rhythm on the desk. Elia settles his gaze on his screen, where he has some kind of scenic image pulled up. Elia assumes it’s one he’d taken himself and admires it for a moment, before it disappears in favour of another. 

Then, half a minute later, it switches back. Then again. 

“What’s your project on?” Elia asks, voice laced with genuine curiosity to mask the sudden understanding. 

Filippo turns to look at him in surprise. He glances back at the laptop screen before smiling tiredly at Elia. “Nature in natural lighting, or something like that. They very pointedly told us it’s a freer concept than it seems. So I’m trying to mix nature nature and human nature. Capture them both in natural light and metaphorical light. Challenge the basic assumption.”

Elia allows himself to be a little awed, even though he only half gets what Filippo means. Maybe _because_ he only half gets what Filippo means. 

He tilts his head. “Could you show me? I’ve never really understood the deal with photography. Is it actual work or some kind of technology magic you’re doing?”

That brings Filippo back to his side on the bed with an impassioned rant ready in an instant, and Elia thinks he gets it. It’s clear in the softer slope to Filippo’s shoulders, the brighter shine of his eyes, the strong cadence of his voice. All unnatural signs of distress and nerves are gone, and Elia is happy to let Filippo chat his ear off about another dozen concepts he doesn’t understand if it keeps that half-smile on his face. Just like that, he understands what his role is. 

He’d been sure Filippo had been teasing in his invite, had suggested their time together as a joke, a way of lightening the mood. Even when the projector really had been brought in, Filippo’s cheeky smile pointed all fingers towards a light-hearted reasoning. 

It’s not until now that he realises Filippo’s loneliness is genuine. 

What Elia provides is company. 

He doesn’t know why the thought makes him a little disappointed. 

~^~

Filippo hadn’t fully realised the privacy living alone had provided him with. 

Now that that privacy has been taken away, it becomes abundantly clear. 

It’s not that big of a deal, really. He hasn’t had any terrible run-ins with his roommate, and as far as he knows, neither have any of the guys he’s brought home with him. Elia allows him his privacy and silently requests the same respect. It’s just that _Elia_ never actually brings anyone home, and Filippo feels much too aware of him, even in a full absence of his presence. On nights Filippo goes out, Elia seems to make a point of doing the same. He goes to meet up with his friends and often spends the night in one of their houses or somewhere else entirely without thinking to send Filippo a single text. 

Which is fine. Filippo has full freedom, full privacy, and Elia has fun. It’s a win-win. 

But, well, there are the nights when Elia is home, sitting on the sofa in the soft light of the TV as Filippo sneaks his date of the night down the hall. It’s not easy to be sneaky when he’s half drunk, however, and he’s apparently no longer used to it. It means Elia noticing, and giving him that knowing look, and simply going back to watching whatever he’s watching. Not caring about what Filippo is doing. 

For drunk Filippo, this is winning the lottery. For hungover Filippo, this means not being able to look Elia in the eye over breakfast. 

He doesn’t get it. It’s not like he’s _shy_. He’s always unashamedly spoken of his hookups with Ele or her friends or his friends or pretty much anyone willing to listen. He has never ever been embarrassed, when it comes to his active sex life. He’s a fit, attractive young man. In his prime. It’s his time to have a good time. 

And it isn’t like Elia ever shames him for it. In fact, despite a few cheeky smiles and knowing smirks and good-natured teasing, he rarely ever even mentions it. It’s part of the healthy balance they’ve got going, of letting the other have their own life and their own space. It makes an excellent roommate. Filippo should feel incredibly lucky. 

But it feels a little strange now, bringing a cute guy home, when there’s one already living there. 

Filippo has found himself having a lot of stupid thoughts like this since Elia moved in. 

Really, it isn’t a problem. Elia doesn’t care, Filippo is glad that Elia doesn’t care, and everything is fine. He’s being silly, feeling awkward. Filippo Sava doesn’t do awkward. Elia is never awkward. He just needs to get a grip. 

It’s fine, until Filippo wakes up and finds one of these guys making him breakfast. 

Usually this would also be fine. Sure, Filippo isn’t always fond of his one night stands sticking around, but there has been the occasional breakfast-maker who has managed to stick a little longer. Filippo has had dates, has had _boyfriends_ , and he isn’t scared of a little extra time to fool around, of a few free meals. When he likes someone, after all, he’ll let them know. 

But, well, the tall blonde currently pouring him coffee isn’t one of those guys. 

God, Filippo can’t even remember his _name_. It’s possible he’d never even asked. 

This morning is not so fine. This morning he’s more than a little hungover. The ache in his head and the churn of his stomach would be better eased by his favourite herbal tea, the minty one that Elia screws his nose up at but continues to buy whenever he’s out. Some of his favourite tea, and Elia’s favourite grilled cheese, and he’d be back to his normal self in no time. He doesn’t need bulky, blonde and blushy filling his apartment with the too-strong smell of bacon. There are already two people in the house to share the cooking responsibilities. He doesn’t need...god, what is this man’s _name_? 

“Drink your coffee, it’ll wake you up a bit,” Lenny, or Luciano, or _whoever_ says with a smirk, too loud and too oblivious and too much for Filippo in his current state. He knows he’s scowling. He can’t quite fix it. His headache is getting worse. 

He screws up his nose and takes a sip of his coffee. It tastes like too much sugar. 

He pushes himself up from the table and ignores Lenny’s curious look. Or was it Leonardo? He has a Leonardo look about him, Filippo decides. “Bathroom,” is all he mutters by way of explanation, and escapes to the sound of Leonardo chuckling after him. 

He only makes it to the entrance to the hallway before running into Elia. 

The younger boy looks sleepy and rumpled, one hand raised to his face to rub at his eye. There’s a track on his cheek from where he must have lain on a fold in the pillow, extra red against the pretty flush covering the rest of his skin. His t-shirt is wrinkled and his sweatpants hang low on his hips and his curls are adorably mussed. His lips part on a yawn as he stumbles back from Filippo, murmuring a quiet apology. 

A single curl sticks up near the back of his head. Filippo resists the urge to reach out and flatten it down. 

Then he does it anyway. 

Elia huffs, but stays still, offering Filippo a small smile once he’s done. He opens his mouth to say something, and then his attention is stolen by the clatter of plates in the kitchen. He frowns for a second and a little confused wrinkle forms on his forehead. Then he looks back at Filippo and seems to form an understanding, his lips twitching in a smile as he raises his brows. “I didn’t know you had a guy home.”

Filippo raises a brow back. “Then we obviously didn’t have too much fun last night.”

Elia laughs quietly and shakes his head, patting Filippo’s shoulder as he steps past him. “It’s true, you might’ve had better.” Filippo grins at him. “Where are you sneaking off to, then?”

“Pee break,” Filippo points down the hallway. “I’m sure you’re capable of introducing yourself.”

“I don’t know, I might need you to hold my hand,” Elia teases, with that easy sarcasm Filippo has learned to enjoy. Then he pulls a face. “Might not be the best idea, though. You know I’m not much of a morning person.”

“Better than me,” Filippo shrugs. Elia keeps looking at him, and he rolls his eyes. “Just go, you’ll be a lot worse if you don’t get your stomach filled. If he can handle me then he can handle you.”

Elia rolls his eyes back, sticking his tongue out in addition, before heading towards the kitchen. Filippo watches him go and decides not to spend too long in the bathroom.

He returns to find the two of them in silence, Leonardo still frying his bacon and Elia watching the kettle boil. They both turn to smile at him, and he retakes his seat at the table before dropping his head into his hands. He hears Elia’s quiet, fond huff and his heart warms. 

“I’m sorry, I would’ve made extra coffee and a bigger batch of breakfast if I knew there were three here.” Leonardo apologises to Elia as he sets a plate of bacon and eggs in front of Filippo. Filippo’s stomach rolls.

“That’s fine, I can cook myself something in a bit,” Elia shrugs. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Nonsense,” Filippo cuts in, causing both of them to look at him again. “I don’t have the stomach for more than half of this, there’s plenty to go around.”

Elia grins again, narrowing his eyes at Filippo. “What was it you were telling me the other night, Filo? No one can party like you?”

Filippo gapes and gestures at himself. “Obviously, this means I was the life of the party.” 

“Obviously,” Leonardo laughs, coming forward to tug on a lock of his hair and seat himself next to him. It only works to strengthen Filippo’s headache. He looks back to Elia, but the other boy has turned back to make his coffee. Filippo watches him mix in a single spoonful of sugar—just enough sweetness to taste but not be overwhelming. Exactly the same way Filippo likes it. He sighs and carefully takes a bite of food. 

He’s only managed to get half a bit of bacon down when Elia snatches a strip off his plate and consumes it in two bites. Filippo stares up at him and wrinkles his nose. “Animal,” he mutters. 

“Don’t act like you wouldn’t have that plate emptied ten minutes ago if you weren’t such a mess,” Elia tosses back. 

“Not enough coffee in you yet, that’s all.” Leonardo squeezes his shoulder. Filippo resists the urge to roll his eyes. 

“You aren’t having your tea?” 

Filippo looks up to find Elia staring at him with a frown. He shrugs and tries to nod subtly at Leonardo, as if to say ‘what can you do?’ Elia’s frown deepens, but he doesn’t give any other reaction beyond a mild shake of his head. Filippo frowns back at him and tries a forkful of eggs. He completely misses the way Leonardo glances between them. 

“Filippo didn’t mention a roommate, yesterday,” Leonardo says, pushing for further conversation. Filippo wants to go back to his room and sleep off the rest of his hangover. Maybe then he could convince Elia to make them grilled cheese for lunch. 

Elia heaves a dramatic sigh. “He does seem intent on keeping me his dirty little secret, doesn’t he?”

“Hey,” Filippo points a finger at him. “Who just invited you to eat half of his breakfast?”

“Too little, too late,” Elia sniffs, hiding his smirk by taking a sip of his coffee.

Leonardo clears his throat. “How long have you been living here, Elia?”

Elia shrugs, sharing a questioning look with Filippo. “A little over a month, maybe?”

“About a month and a half,” Filippo says. 

Elia nods. “But we knew each other for a while before that.”

_We didn’t_ , Filippo thinks. _Not really. I didn’t know you, but I wanted to._

“And what are you studying?” Leonardo pipes in again. 

“I’m still in my senior year.”

“High school?” Leonardo blinks. “And already moved out?”

Filippo watches as Elia shuts down at the question. He draws his coffee closer to his chest and looks down into the mug, brows drawing together. Filippo hates watching it. It happens, on occasion. Either when Filippo lets something slip or Elia himself accidentally mentions something or for no reason at all, sometimes. Elia will simply get quiet. He’ll disappear into an unreachable bubble that Filippo has no hope of penetrating, and he simply has to wait for him to come back out. In the past month and a half, Filippo has never dared to ask him about it. He’s wondered, many times, if he _should_. But he continues to tell himself they haven’t quite reached that stage. Not yet. 

Instead, Filippo has learned to smile and fill in the silence for him. “Well, when he got an offer he simply couldn’t resist…” 

Leonardo laughs at that, but he seems a little less comfortable than before. Filippo hates that he’s a little pleased at the realisation. He glances at Elia, who gifts him with a small smile before pushing himself off the counter. 

“I think I’ll leave you to it now,” he murmurs, already rounding the table and heading back towards the door. 

“You sure you don’t want some more food?” Leonardo asks after him. 

“I’m not really that hungry.”

Filippo doesn’t even spare Leonardo a glance before getting up to follow him. 

Elia is only halfway down the hall by the time Filippo catches up to him and sets a gentle hand on his shoulder. Still, Elia tenses at the touch, and Filippo quickly retracts it, taking a tiny step back as Elia turns to face him. “What?” Elia sighs. 

Now that he’s here, Filippo doesn’t actually know what. He just knew, without thinking, that he had to follow Elia. That it was a hundred times more important than sticking around with Leonardo. 

But this isn’t something they do. They don’t follow each other around like this. They don’t cross the invisible lines that had been spread between them from the beginning. They don’t invade the other’s space. When one walks away, the other gives them room to breathe. They’re just roommates. That doesn’t mean anything. 

Filippo really needs to learn to remember that. 

“Ah. Are you okay?” he asks carefully. 

Elia shrugs again, tightening his grip on his coffee. “Fine.”

“Darling, you passed up on a free breakfast. Come on, at least come back and eat something.”

“I’m fine. I’ll just get something later.”

“Elia—“

“Filo, I mean it,” Elia cuts him off. “I’m just not in the mood to sit and have a friendly breakfast, and I wouldn’t want to scare away your friend.”

“Oh, please, come scare him away,” Filippo mutters. Elia squints at him. “Elia, I swear, the guy put like four sugars in my coffee. Four.” He holds up four fingers for emphasis. 

“So why didn’t you tell him to make you your tea? Or just make it yourself? He isn’t going to know what you like unless you tell him, Filo.”

_You know what I like _, Filippo almost says. But they don’t do that, either.__

__God, his head really hurts._ _

__He rolls his eyes. “He doesn’t care what I like. He cares about what he likes. My lack of any memory of last night tells me that.”_ _

__“You sure it’s not just because you can’t hold your alcohol?”_ _

__“See,” Filippo insists. “You are perfectly capable of being your charmingly annoying self.”_ _

__Elia releases another sigh and shakes his head. He examines Filippo for a moment, and Filippo is sure he’s won. Then Elia says, “Okay, I think I get it now.”_ _

__Filippo furrows his brow. “Get what?”_ _

__“I felt kinda bad, at the beginning. I felt like I understood, because we were the same. But we’re not. You’re lonely on purpose. As soon as someone tries to get to know you, you push them away.” He laughs slightly to himself, gives another shake of his head. “I get it. No wonder this is the first time I’ve seen anyone you bring home. You get rid of them at the first opportunity.”_ _

__This is not the direction Filippo had expected this conversation to go. Frankly, he’s quite offended by it._ _

__He would never dream of being ‘lonely on purpose’. It’s not his fault that they don’t stick around. That no one ever has. It has nothing to do with some shitty one-night stands. Filippo didn’t push his mother away, didn’t tell Ele to move off to another country with her boyfriend. Filippo has no control over the empty feeling that eats away at his chest._ _

__Fuck Elia for suggesting otherwise._ _

__The boy in question has now made it to his room, and Filippo follows with some extra power in his step, catching him in the doorway. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? I’ve had boyfriends, Elia. Have you ever had an actual relationship? I’ve never even seen you have a one-night stand, so where are you getting the rights to judge, huh?”_ _

__“I’m not judging. What I’m saying is true, isn’t it? You’ve had boyfriends. Why haven’t they worked out, Filippo?”_ _

__Filippo takes a steadying breath. “I know that you’re upset, so I’m not going to take you seriously right now.”_ _

__“Shocker,” Elia mutters._ _

__Filippo grits his teeth and gives Elia a tight, sarcastic smile before turning on his heel._ _

__He hears the door shut behind him. Not quite a slam, but not gentle, either. He curls his hands into fists and sighs as he makes it back to the kitchen to find Leonardo still sat at the table. Filippo doesn’t retake his seat. He isn’t in the mood to have a friendly breakfast._ _

__“Listen, Leonardo, I really hate to be such an awful host, but I’m assuming you’ve probably guessed it’s not the best time. Thank you so much for last night, and the breakfast, really.” He searches for more to say, then notices the odd look Leonardo is giving him and freezes, waiting._ _

__Leonardo drops his fork with a clatter and stands. He walks right past Filippo while saying, “It’s Lorenzo.”_ _

_Fuck_ , Filippo thinks. 

He closes his eyes and follows Lorenzo out into the hall, biting back another sigh. “Sorry, Lorenzo, sorry. Beer brain, you know,” he winces, knowing how pathetic his explanation sounds. Beer isn’t even his drink of choice, and he’s sure Lorenzo knows it, if Filippo spent enough time with him last night to decide to bring him home. To be fair, though, it’s probably better this way. It would never have lasted anyway. 

“Whatever, _Filo_ ,” Lorenzo says, pulling on his shoes. Filippo watches as he snatches his coat off the rack. “You could’ve just told me you were into high-schoolers. Or at least that you were already living with one.”

Filippo really doesn’t like how these people are making him sound. He doesn’t get a chance to defend himself, however, before Lorenzo has left and slammed the door behind him. Filippo winces again, this time at the spike of pain in his head, and leans against the wall for a moment. He rubs a hand over his face before collecting himself and heading back to the kitchen, where two half-eaten plates of breakfast now wait for him. 

He’ll cover a plate for his shitty roommate, he supposes.

He hates this feeling. He hates realising that they’ve just had a fight. He supposes it’s natural enough. It would be strange to get along with the person you’re living with all the time. He’s lucky that they’ve lasted this month and a half without any sort of hiccups. It’s just...well, it’s always been easy with Elia. Filippo had never really imagined fighting with him over anything. Not beyond grumping at him over breakfast, arguing over who gets to cook and who’s left to do the dishes. He feels tired and trembly at the idea of having to ignore Elia, of hiding in his room if he hears him in the hall, of not being able to make their usual jokes. His lungs seize at the idea of going back to spending all his time alone. Elia has made it easier to exist here. He hates the idea of losing it. 

More than anything, he hates the thought that Elia is right. 

It becomes obvious, when he spends the next two weeks doing exactly what he fears and running away. He does everything possible to avoid having any interactions with Elia, and Elia doesn’t make any attempts to stop him. 

Then the whole of Italy goes on lockdown, and Filippo has no way out. 

~^~

It’s not like they didn’t know the pandemic was happening. It was becoming a worldwide thing pretty quickly, after all, and the news was filled with it. But well, the news wasn’t something any of them paid much attention to, until it was suddenly unignorable. 

In many cases, Elia’s chill persona is deceptive. There are a number of things in his life that make him more nervous than he’d like to admit. He does well at hiding it, usually, and building up that wall is often helpful in actually calming him down. 

In this case, however, all pretenses fall apart and Elia simply _panics_. 

Of course, there’s a whole list of scary things about this. The virus itself becomes pretty terrifying pretty quickly. The mere idea of being locked up for an indefinite amount of time causes his breath to pick up. The confusion on what’s going to happen with his classes, in his _final year_ , adds quite a bit of additional stress. 

The worst thing, however, is the sudden doubt that he’s going to have anywhere to live. 

Filippo hasn’t even spoken to him in almost three weeks. He expects Eleonora will be coming home now, anyway. Of course, she’d want to be at home in such a situation. 

When he comes home and stutters this out to Filippo, Filippo simply looks at him as if he’s gone insane. However, he speaks very slowly and very calmly, as if scared of spooking Elia away. “Darling, as of six hours from now, no one is getting in or out of this apartment unless it’s absolutely essential. Do you think Ele is going to be packed up and back here in that time? Do you think she’s racing to do it? To come back to testing and self-isolating and the whole disaster we have going on here? No, she’s much safer not going anywhere. She’ll manage just fine out there with Edoardo.”

“But,” he adds softly, “if you want to go home, Elia, I would understand.”

Elia’s throat clogs up at the thought. He swallows the lump and gives a tiny shake of his head. “I can’t go home,” he whispers. “Filo, I don’t want to have to go home.”

Filippo’s shoulders slump instantly and he lets out a shaky breath, and Elia braces himself for the disappointment he’s sure to find in his eyes. Instead, what he sees is relief. “Then I need you to help me make a quick list of essentials so one of us can do a shop to last us a while.”

Elia relaxes and quickly nods. 

It’s enough, it seems, to break the tension between them. They still haven’t discussed their fight—because Elia is assuming that’s what it was—or their little period of silence, but instead they basically go back to normal. They go beyond their old normal, really. They don’t have any other choice. 

A week in, they’ve adopted some sort of routine. One makes breakfast, the other makes dinner. They both do their own lunches. Sometimes, their meal plans fall apart. They have brunch, instead, and a dinner that’s more of a supper, and too much sugar in between. Their movie nights become much more frequent. They do stupid art projects together. Filippo looks up quizzes online and they have mini competitions. They resort to card games, and board games, on nights where they’re particularly lost. They also make sure to spend some time apart. They both still have school work, after all. Elia’s set up is not ideal, and it’s still barely started. Filippo seems to spend more time cursing at his laptop than doing any work. It’s not ideal for an art student, especially one that specialises in photography, to be trapped inside, Elia supposes. 

Overall, though, they manage. 

But Elia still notices how it isn’t quite right. 

They’ll be having a moment of fun, and Filippo will catch himself in the middle of a laugh. The light previously filling his expression will dim, and he’ll grow quieter, pulling away from Elia. His jibes come across half-hearted. Elia could blame it on the lockdown. He’s starting to grow a little tired himself, three weeks in. A little antsy. He knows now is the time to band together. They talk to their friends, of course, over texts and calls and video chats, and it eases everything a little. But realistically, Elia knows how important that real human contact is. He knows how necessary it is to have Filippo. He knows they’re the only thing truly keeping the other sane. 

When Marti texts him ‘ _Is Filo taking care of you?_ ’, he laughs it off. When the next message is ‘ _Are you taking care of him?_ ’, he feels it like a punch. 

He can’t keep pushing it off, and making excuses. He needs to fix things with Filippo. 

It’s killing him anyway, not to. 

It’s a strange feeling. Spending basically every minute with Filippo and missing him anyway. 

So three weeks in, on their umpteenth movie night, Elia decides to take the leap. He just doesn’t really know where to begin. He starts with completely ignoring the movie in favour of sneaking glances at Filippo, tucked into the very opposite end of the sofa, not paying any attention to Elia in the slightest. He’s devoid of his old enthusiastic commentary. Elia has only realised since the start of this silence how much he relied on it to actually make these movies interesting. 

Eventually, he decides the best option is coming right out with it. 

“Filo, I’m really sorry.”

Filippo turns towards him instantly, but doesn’t say anything. He simply focuses his gaze on some point past Elia and licks his lips. It works very well in making Elia feel ten times worse. 

“I shouldn’t have said those things to you. Or, at least, not the way that I did. And I shouldn’t have waited so long to apologise. You know I felt bad about it right away. As soon as I closed the door I wanted to come back out and fix it. I just...like you said, I was already upset. It’s not—I’m not good at expressing myself. I still don’t know how to give you a proper apology. I just know I hate feeling like I hurt you, Filo. I hate you being mad at me. And I am really sorry, for every stupid thing I said.”

There’s a moment in which Filippo gives no reaction. His seconds of silence are agonizing, but Elia supposes he deserves it. Even if he hadn’t been thinking, even if he’d been upset, even if he hadn’t meant any of it to be hurtful, it had been. It’s why, a lot of the time, Elia tries to keep his observations to himself. He’s learned from experience that it’s usually best not to speak out of turn. There’d been no need for the accusations he’d thrown at Filippo. They were assumptions he hadn’t even given himself time to think about, hadn’t even managed to wrap his own head around. 

But in the moment, he’d been sure, and he’d meant it. He'd been angry. With the one-night-stand and with his father and with himself and with Filippo. He was tired of feeling like he was being used. He was only wanted because it was convenient to whoever was asking for him. He’d spiraled. He had been spiraling for a while. He’d been hoping it would get rid of Filippo. 

He just hadn’t expected it to work quite so well. 

Now, Filippo offers him a small, careless shrug and a smile that seems oddly self-deprecating. “It’s fine. Everything you said was true.”

Oh. 

Even though Elia has been pretty sure of the deduction himself, he’s never expected Filippo to openly agree with it. “Still,” he says hesitantly. “It was...harsh. The way I went about it. I didn’t mean for it to sound like that.”

Filippo’s smile turns crooked. “Like what? Mean?”

“Yeah,” Elia averts his gaze. 

“Well, it wasn’t the nicest thing you’d want to hear from your roommate.”

“I’m sorry, Filippo. It’s just, it actually frustrated me,” Elia admits, and he knows before he even begins this rant that he’s going to say too much. “I have to work so hard sometimes for people to like me. And even then, it can end up being all for nothing. But the idea of pissing anyone off, or pushing anyone away, makes me anxious as hell. I’ve always felt like I needed all the support and all the backups I could get. And you’re so likable, Filo. You make it so easy. But I recognised it so quickly, how alone you are. I mean, as far as I know, my friends have been here more than yours have. I don’t even know any of your friends. And it sucks. Because you’re awesome, and you have people who recognise it, and you push them away. Why do you do that? Why do you make it so much harder for yourself?”

His heart stutters when he looks back to Filippo to see his eyes glistening. His smile is weak and watery as he shrugs at Elia again. “It feels like the easier option, at the time.”

Elia softens. Despite his impassioned speech, he understands that feeling. But he’s had enough good experiences to learn that it’s worth staving off such thoughts. The good outweighs the bad and makes it easier to take those chances. 

How many bad experiences has Filippo needed to have, for it to outweigh the good?

“It shouldn’t,” Elia says quietly. “It shouldn’t feel like that. I hate that it feels like that.”

Filippo smiles sadly at him. His apology has completely gotten away with him, he realises. It doesn’t feel like he can do much about that, now, though. It doesn’t feel like he has to. He doesn’t think he’s made Filippo any madder. In a much longer, more roundabout way than he’d expected, he thinks he’s bridged that gap of understanding between them again. 

He gathers himself as Filippo sniffs and turns back to the TV, shifting his whole body with the movement. When he settles again, he’s next to Elia. “At least now I have this as an excuse. Can’t push anyone away if I can’t see them in the first place.”

It’s obvious that Filippo is now trying to move on, to make light of the subject, but Elia thinks there are a few flaws to that logic. “Well, that depends,” he says slowly. “Have you really been keeping in contact with everyone? Eleonora, your mom, your friends?”

“As if any of them would stand to be ignored,” Filippo points out; and this time, Elia believes him. “I assume you’re keeping in contact with your boys.” Elia nods, and then Filippo seems to hesitate. “Have you heard from your dad?”

That works to suck the life out of Elia very quickly. “He called me once since I moved out, that one time about the money. Otherwise he’s left me alone and I’m happy about it.”

Filippo offers him another smile. This one is soft and understanding and somewhat disbelieving. His only response is a simple, “Okay.”

This time, it’s Elia’s turn to lighten the mood, and he does so by elbowing Filippo’s side. “One old man pestering me is enough, anyway, don’t you think?”

“I see you’ve still learned zero fucking respect,” Filippo laughs, eyes wide, and Elia realises how much he’s missed this. How much he needs it. 

“How do you know I wasn’t talking about Gio?” Elia asks, equally affronted, and is delighted when Filippo punches his shoulder in response. 

“Have you even paid any attention to this movie?”

“I couldn’t even tell you how long it’s been playing.”

Filippo rolls his eyes with another huff, and then he’s slumping right against Elia’s shoulder and tucking his head into the crook of his neck and Elia pauses. 

It’s not like he’s remained blissfully unaware of Filippo’s easy affection. He’s become more than used to it. He’s grown accustomed to shoulder squeezes, hair ruffles, playful punches, cheek kisses. Filippo simply has no problem displaying his every emotion physically. He has touches that express gratitude, comfort, solidarity, annoyance, and everything in between. Elia himself isn’t shy to the affection. He hasn’t been completely unexposed. With friends like Gio, and Luca, and even Marti, now that he’s grown into himself a little more, Elia is used to most forms of friendly contact. Plus, he’s had a few hookups, and a few dates, here and there. He isn’t touch starved. 

It doesn’t stop him from soaking up these small bits of affection from Filippo like a sponge. It feels especially necessary, in their current situation, to take everything he can get. 

They don’t do this, so often. Elia remembers one other occasion, in which Filippo had come home slightly tipsy but alone and found Elia still awake in the sitting room. He’d collapsed onto the sofa next to him and curled into his side with a sigh and Elia had simply watched on in amusement. They’d stayed like that for around half an hour with the show Elia had been watching blaring quietly in the background. Then the episode ended, and Elia had coaxed Filippo up and guided him to bed and that was that. 

It’s nice, having it now, knowing Filippo isn’t simply doing it because he’s an affectionate drunk. He’s making a very conscious decision, this time around, to be so close to Elia. To press his warmth all up against his side and let his hair tickle his neck. 

Elia sinks down a little, let’s Filippo settle into a better position, and closes his eyes. He regrets not apologising to Filippo sooner, now that the anxiety has evaporated from his chest, leaving him lighter and breathing easier. He knows they probably won’t, that Filippo at least is focused on the movie enough not to allow it, but Elia really thinks he could sleep just like this. Especially when he rests his head atop Filippo’s and feels that dark silky hair now soft under his cheek, no longer tickling him. 

Filippo wraps his arms around Elia’s and hugs the limb to his chest and Elia finds himself smiling. 

“Filo,” he says quietly, when the credits finally start to roll and he’s worried the older boy will leave. Filippo, however, stays put and simply lets out a hum. “Thank you. For letting me stay here.” He takes a breath before adding, quieter, “I don’t think I would have survived this at home.”

Once again, he’s met with a moment of silence. Then Filippo squeezes his arm tightly. “I don’t think I would have survived being here alone.”

The admission is soft, barely there at all, and it settles the remaining worries left at the bottom of Elia’s chest. With their harmony reestablished, so is Elia’s peace. 

~^~

Filippo is a social person. Yes, so maybe Elia hit a sore spot with his (correct) assumptions and Filippo doesn’t exactly have a great track record with relationships. But he fills up that space with friends, casual or more familiar, as well as a ton of random little interactions. Sure, he misses his nights out, his party nights, but Filippo hadn’t realised how much he enjoyed even simpler things. He misses going out for his coffee and flirting with the barista (who has a girlfriend, but who is very pretty and always humours Filippo). He misses his favourite cashier at the grocery store, an older lady who always offers him compliments and gossip (who now isn’t allowed to come in to work). He misses being able to go for a walk with his camera and permanently capture the dirty looks some of the joggers would throw him. He misses life as it was when he was actually able to live it. 

He has friends he keeps in contact with. University classmates, the countless people he’s met down on the gay street, even friends that have hung on since his high school days. He keeps in touch through group chats and the odd video call. Eleonora checks up on him regularly, and Filippo feels a pang of relief every time she pops up on his screen. Even the days when Edoardo is there to tease him, it’s a relief. 

Martino checks in with him, too. He keeps a double check, in fact, through Elia. The two of them have learned to laugh about it secretly and still respond seriously to Martino. Filippo wouldn’t admit it, but he’s happy to have updates on him and Nicco, too. 

He’s not completely cut off. He has contact. Once every two weeks, he goes to the grocery store, he gets outside. 

And he has Elia. 

Since Elia’s rather heartfelt apology, they’ve fallen into their easy flow again—increased tenfold. It’s nice, feeling normal again, feeling pleased at the sight of Elia’s smile and the sound of his laugh and touch of his hand. That’s the most noticeable growth between them. Filippo has always freely given his affection, and Elia has always accepted it silently, but now he’s begun to dish it out in return. He’ll tug Filippo’s hair in greeting, smack his shoulder amidst a bout of laughter, flick his cheek in reprimand, lean against his side on the sofa. Filippo supposes it happens due to a number of reasons. They’re naturally becoming more familiar with each other and therefore more comfortable, and Elia can’t be unaffected by the lockdown measures either. 

It just...well, it brings about a new problem. Which is Filippo being inconveniently reminded of just how attractive Elia is. 

It’s the isolation, is what he keeps telling himself. He has a number of certain needs that aren’t being quite satisfied, and it’s making his brain a little fuzzy. Driving him a little crazy. Being cooped up with Elia and Elia alone is giving him a bunch of stupid ideas, and that’s it. It’s easy, under this newfound affection and their light banter and the domesticity of it all, to crave that little bit more. Filippo will go out whenever this ends, kiss someone who most definitely isn’t Elia, and forget all about this. 

That is, as long as Elia doesn’t kill him first. 

The thing is, Filippo has come to realise, is that Elia is annoyingly perceptive. He seems to have learnt from his years with his ridiculous mess of a friend group. He’s still a dumbass, still abandons all sense of maturity in the blink of an eye. But there are occasions where he seems to understand Filippo better than he understands himself. So, Filippo deems him as surprisingly perceptive. 

The alternative is that he’s come to know Filippo even better than himself, and that’s a little too scary to consider. 

Either way, it means he notices that Filippo is starting to go a little stir crazy. 

He appears in the doorway of Filippo’s room as he’s spinning around and around in his desk chair. Filippo plants his feet to bring himself to a stop and raises a hand to his head as it continues spinning while he looks at three Elias. It’s not, he thinks, a bad sight. 

Elia leans against the doorframe and looks thoroughly unimpressed. “You have absolutely nothing better to do than see how many spins it takes before you vomit?”

Filippo wrinkles his nose. “I hate that word. And no, darling, there’s really nothing better to do, is there?”

Elia considers him for another second and then walks towards him. He grabs Filippo by the wrists and begins attempting to pull him out of his chair. Filippo resists with a whine of, “ _Elia_.” But the other boy is, unsurprisingly, surprisingly strong, and with one last forceful pull he lifts Filippo from the chair and almost allows him to pitch face-first onto the floor. 

“Filo,” Elia laughs as he catches him, setting him properly on his feet. “Come on. You just need a way to get rid of all the pent up energy.”

Filippo’s brow shoots up. He can think of a number of ways Elia could help him release his ‘pent up energy’. He’s sure none of these ideas are what Elia has in mind. “What are you suggesting, Santini?”

“You’re going to come work out with me.”

“Excuse me?” Filippo blinks. “I will do no such thing.”

“Come on, Filo, you’re going to completely stiffen up sitting in here all the time. You’re bored, aren’t you? Just try it, it’ll be fun.”

“Elia, I have never seen you do a workout a day in your life.”

“Yeah but you also don’t pay any attention.”

“Bullshit, I pay more than enough attention,” Filippo laughs. “Don’t try to lie your way out of this.”

“Okay, so like, I thought it was boring as hell, but lockdown has made me into a changed man, Filo. As in, I tried it yesterday when I hit max levels of boredom and it genuinely helped. But it is kinda boring on my own. Especially knowing you’re probably in here sulking. So, you’re joining me.”

Filippo still doesn’t really see the logic here. He throws his hands up, then crosses them over his chest, staring Elia down. “What’s in it for me?”

Elia blinks, then takes on a cheeky smile. “Time with your favourite roommate, obviously.”

Filippo scoffs. “The only thing I’m looking for now is time _away_ from my roommate.”

“I’ll make you lasagne,” Elia tries again. 

“You want to make me sweat and all your offering is lasagne?”

Now, Elia simply smirks. “Come on, Filippo. Don’t pretend you ever turn down anyone making you sweat even without the lasagne.”

Filippo gapes at him. By the time the words have sunk in and he’s snatched a pillow off his bed to smack the other boy with, Elia is already running out the door and down the hallway with a burst of laughter. Despite his better judgement, Filippo chases after him, his own laughter bubbling out around a scandalised, “ _Elia Santini!_ ”

Elia’s loud laughs float back to him, and Filippo finally finds him in the sitting room, looking much too smug. Filippo fully realises his mistakes when he notices the workout video already set up on the TV. He hugs his pillow to his chest with a scowl as Elia spreads his arms out and gives a tiny shrug, smiling widely. “You’re already here now, Filo, you may as well join in.”

Filippo tosses his pillow onto the sofa and raises a brow. “Or I could just sit back and enjoy the view.”

“Sorry, man, but that’s not the service I offer. You can use your free Pornhub subscription for that.”

This time, he has nowhere to run before Filippo picks up the pillow and smacks him with it. 

Elia lets him get a good hit in over another laugh, and then he’s snatching the free end of the pillow and holding it still. “Look, let’s just give it a go, and if it really doesn’t make you feel any better, I’ll do the washing for a week.”

Filippo raises a brow. He can’t deny that it’s a good offer. He does, after all, enjoy all of his time spent with Elia. So really, he shouldn’t have that much of a problem with it. A bit of exercise really won’t do him any harm, he supposes. And all he has to do is pretend to hate it, and he’s freed from his least favourite chore for a week. That sounds like a pretty good deal. 

He rolls his eyes to the roof and heaves a sigh. “I want the lasagne too.”

“Well, we have to eat, and we both know I’m a better cook than you anyway, so,” Elia shrugs, still smiling, and stretches his arms out behind his back. 

Filippo flips him off and gestures for him to begin. 

It’s really not that bad, once he realises that it’s more of a yoga-type workout and he’s more familiar with it than he expected. It helps that Elia is about as experienced as he thought—which is to say, not very. Filippo manages, and it does release a little of all the excess energy he has stored, and it does make him feel a little better. It only makes sense, after five whole weeks of doing very little, that he’s a little pent up and a little stiff. It’s nice, to stretch over and push Elia off balance and hear him laugh and curse as he shoves Filippo in return. 

It goes perfectly fine, until Elia decides to take off his shirt. 

Filippo has to swallow down a very undignified sound and avert his eyes. He’s gone months, _months_ , of living with Elia, and has so far managed to avoid this situation. He’s been taking extra care, since lockdown set in. Since he started feeling things he shouldn’t. He can’t help but stop, just for a second, and sneak a tiny glance. It’s not like he isn’t supposed to see. Elia is more than aware that Filippo is still in the room as he pulls the garment over his head and tosses it on the sofa behind him, running a hand through his sweaty hair. Despite Elia’s earlier joke, Filippo doesn’t do sweaty. Really, this should be gross. 

It’s just that Elia happens to be very, very pretty, and much too well sculpted for someone who has had a few too many lasagnes and way too little exercise in the past month. 

Filippo’s feeling a little hot, himself. He tugs at his collar and it doesn’t provide any relief. 

“I don’t know how you’re not sweating more too,” Elia shakes his head, stretching his arm over his head and twisting to the side and flexing in too many visible places. 

Filippo finally tears his gaze away and mimics his pose, pursing his lips. “I’m offended that you haven’t already noticed my flexibility.”

“Ah, well, it’s starting to make more sense now. Should’ve guessed where you get your stamina from.”

Filippo shoves him again, and this time his hand makes contact with bare skin, and Elia’s responding laugh sounds even more melodious than usual, and Filippo is so completely fucked. 

It makes sense that it only takes another week for him to crack. 

He’s already been driven to the edge of insanity. Now he feels even more trapped than before, unable to get the image of Elia out of his head at any moment. It was fine, when it was all his imagination. Much easier to cut off at a more appropriate time, much easier to push aside and ignore. To mark as nothing more than a fantasy. But now that he’s seen the real thing, it’s different. Now he has a real image of Elia, shirtless and smirking, skin slick with sweat, breath coming quick, and well, it doesn’t really leave much to the imagination. Filippo has it all right there, burned in his memory. Resurfacing at the most inappropriate times. 

He can’t help but feel like it’s all happening at absolutely the wrong time. Not only will Elia notice him pulling away now much more easily, Filippo genuinely worries it would be damaging for the both of them. Elia seeks Filippo out with increasing frequency as a new line of tension seems to form in his brow and in the curve of his shoulders. Filippo knows it’s nearing the end of their school year and everything is steadily growing more unsure. Elia’s anxiety is slowly and surely rubbing off on him, and it isn’t made any better by the fact that Filippo wants to wrap him up and kiss all his worries away. 

God, if Martino knew what he was thinking, he’d bash his head in. 

Well, he wouldn’t, because he’s Martino, but he’d _want_ to and that’s absolutely something Filippo should avoid. He should have avoided developing a crush on his younger, straight, beautiful roommate in the first place. 

God, what would _Elia_ think of him? 

He could handle this issue much better if they weren’t in the middle of a worldwide crisis. But as they _are_ in the middle of a worldwide crisis, Filippo has nowhere to run. 

Which is why, a week after the shirt incident, on the rare occasion that Elia is the one to make their grocery store trip, Filippo spends his time spiraling. He’s pacing around the sitting room by the time he hears the door open and footsteps trailing their way to the kitchen. The tap turns on and momentarily drowns out the noise in Filippo’s head. Still, he’s too deep into his pacing now to stop. 

Really, it’s a miracle he’s made it this long before having this particular breakdown. 

The footsteps pick up again, coming closer, and then stop. There’s a moment of silence, even though Filippo knows Elia now stands in the doorway. Then there’s a soft, careful, “Filippo?” 

Filippo raises his hand and flicks it in a little wave. 

Elia wanders a little further into the room. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Filippo gives another flick of his wrist. And really, it is nothing. He just needs to release some of that pent up energy, like Elia said. He just needs to not be thinking about Elia as he does. Preferably, he’d like just a few moments in which he isn’t thinking at all. 

“It doesn’t look like nothing,” Elia says bluntly. “Are you okay? Because you kinda don’t look okay.”

“I’m fine,” Filippo nods. “Fine. Everything’s fine. Did you wash your hands for the full twenty seconds? Because I’d really hate to die because you didn’t wash your hands, Eli.”

“Washed and disinfected. And I wore the gloves you forced on me. Is that what this is about? Are you having some kind of virus crisis?”

Filippo stops in his tracks and sucks in a sharp breath. He closes his eyes and raises his hands to them, digging the heels in and forcing himself to take another breath. Elia doesn’t move, letting him take time to collect himself. “I feel like we’re never going to get out of this fucking apartment.”

“Filippo,” Elia murmurs. “I know that it sucks, but it isn’t going to be forever. We’ve lasted this long. We’re better off than a lot of people. We just need to remember that and we’ll be fine.”

“You don’t know that. You’ve ignored the news as much as you can. It’s a fucking mess, Elia. Even with no one out there. It isn’t getting any better. It just gets worse, every fucking day, and even if we ever do get out there isn’t going to be anyone left, at this rate. They’re already talking about a second wave, did you know that? Before it’s even gone they’re already talking about it coming back.”

Elia comes the rest of the way towards him and sets his hands on his shoulders. “Hey, Filo, chill for a second. Filo.” Elia gives him a little shake and waits for Filippo to look at him. His expression is sympathetic. “I get it, okay? It’s scary, and being stuck is frustrating as hell, and not seeing the guys or anyone is making me feel a little crazy and I don’t even know if I have exams but it isn’t going to help me to freak out. Psyching yourself out is just going to make it worse.”

Filippo clenches his jaw. “I don’t have control of that. It’s just—it’s impossible not to think about it, and I’m so tired of thinking about it all the time, but there’s nothing to distract me because I can’t do anything or go anywhere or see anyone and I feel like I can’t even breathe because I can’t even go to the stupid park and take shitty sunset pictures or—“

“ _Hey_ ,” Elia cuts him off, tone firm and expression remaining gentle. “I know. I know you can’t control it. Which is why you’re going to let it out and let me help, okay? We’re going to go out to the balcony and you’re going to breathe and I’m going to make you your smelly tea and we’re going to stay out there until you calm down. Okay?”

Filippo starts to shake his head and Elia captures his face between his hands and holds him still. “Filo. Balcony. Tea. Breathe,” he emphasises. “Okay?”

His thumbs brushing Filippo’s cheeks is all it takes to distract him enough to take another shaky breath. Elia waits until he takes another few and finally gives an answering nod before he drops his hands. “Okay,” Filippo murmurs. 

Elia nods, that familiar soft smile taking over his features. He sets his hand on Filippo’s back, this time, and gently begins to guide him forward, and Filippo hates how soothed he is by the touch. He leans into it, anyway, and blames it on his current lack of strength. Elia rubs small, soothing circles the whole short walk to the balcony and then pushes Filippo into the farthest chair, surrounded by Eleonora’s plants. Elia has been essential in helping Filippo take care of them, and still, a few are beginning to wilt. 

Elia squeezes his shoulder before taking a step back. “I’ll go make your tea. I won’t be long.”

Filippo musters enough energy to give him a smile and nods. Elia nods back, but his pace is quick as he walks back inside, so Filippo doesn’t think he’s very reassured. Once he’s gone, Filippo drops his head into his hands and wonders how on Earth he’s let this happen. It’s bad enough, to be harbouring all these secret feelings for Elia, but having this meltdown in front of him? Filippo is usually much more put together than that. He needs to get a grip. 

It’s hard, because Elia makes everything so easy. 

Filippo doesn’t even notice him returning until there’s another gentle touch on his shoulder and he jerks his head up to find Elia with a mug in his hand. He offers it to Filippo with his usual gentle smile, and Filippo takes it in slightly shaky hands. “Thank you,” he murmurs, as Elia pulls the other chair closer to him and sits down. 

Elia shrugs. “It’s just tea. I’ve made you a hundred of them by now.”

Filippo smiles slightly and shakes his head. “For not judging my meltdown, I mean.”

“It was bound to happen at some point,” Elia shrugs again. His smile turns teasing. “Better you than me, eh?”

“Well, I’m certainly sure I wouldn’t have handled it as well as you.”

Elia shakes his head. “I think you would have. You might get the chance to test it yet.”

Filippo lightly kicks his shin. Elia kicks him back. They sit in silence as Filippo takes a few careful sips of his tea. He already feels better. He hadn’t even realised all the worries that had been eating away at his mind, that he was pacing over, until he’d said them out loud. He feels lighter, now that he’s let it out. It also helps that Elia is home again. His company always provides a pleasant distraction, but this time Filippo is able to watch him freely as he watches the city below them. He’d cut his hair before lockdown, luckily, but he’d only trimmed it down enough to be manageable again. Now it’s grown back out to his mess of curls, and they flutter over his forehead and the top of his ears in the breeze. Elia doesn’t even seem to notice. He has, usually, a peaceful lack of self-awareness that Filippo has envied on more than one occasion. 

“You know I’d never judge you though, right?” Elia asks suddenly, turning to look at him once more, and Filippo has to collect himself before giving a short nod. “I mean, if I wanted to I could’ve found plenty of reasons for it already…”

Filippo chokes on his tea and reaches out to slap the younger’s arm. “Cheeky,” he scolds, but he’s unable to bite back a smile when Elia merely laughs at him. He settles for rolling his eyes and slumping back in his chair as a way of showing his offense. 

Elia gives him another light kick. “I mean it, though. You can talk to me, instead of driving yourself crazy like this. That’s what I’m here for. We can drive ourselves crazy together,” he jokes. 

_This_ , Filippo thinks. _This is what he does. God, I’ve gotten soft._

This time, he gives Elia’s arm a pat. “Same goes for you, darling. Crazy is my specialty. I welcome it at any moment of the day. Well,” he adds, “after ten.”

Elia huffs and gives him a wide smile, nodding. “After ten it is.”

Filippo finishes most of his tea in the following silence, but there’s something he still wants to say. Something that’s been niggling at the back of his mind a lot this past month. That he’s become very aware of, as he’s sure it’s very obvious. He’s still doubtful, though, that Elia has noticed, and for some reason, Filippo desperately needs him to know. He especially needs to admit it to himself. 

He needs to let it out. 

“You know,” he starts slowly, waiting for Elia to look at him again. Once Elia has offered him his full attention, he continues. “I know what you think of me and that you probably think my little stunt just now only proves your theory, but I don’t push everyone away. Or what I mean is...I haven’t pushed you away. Even when you’re being a nosy little shit. So.” He finishes with an awkward shrug, averting his gaze down to his mug and watching the remaining liquid swirl around. 

“Is this you telling me I’m special, Filo?” Elia asks, and even though his tone is saturated with teasing, Filippo’s heart seizes at how on the mark he is. 

He rolls his eyes anyway and manages to keep his fear out of his voice. “Now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Elia’s very mature response is to stick his tongue out at him, but he seems brighter than he had before. Even though he had seemed the center of Filippo’s problems, a while ago, Filippo feels much lighter, too. 

They stay out there until the sun starts to sink, and even then Filippo remains as Elia heads in to make them dinner. He needs a little breather, he thinks, before he can deal with any more Elia. He’s getting too close to breaking in a very different way and doing something incredibly stupid. 

He’s calmed himself down enough that dinner goes by without any problems, and then Elia waves him off when he attempts to do the dishes. “I think you’ve tired yourself out enough today,” is all he offers as an explanation, and Filippo isn’t going to argue with that. 

He’s midway through an episode of a trashy reality show when he realises Elia is taking an oddly long time to come join him. It’s not that he has to, and Filippo supposes it would make sense for the other boy to want a little break and head off to his room early. It just doesn’t seem like an Elia thing to do. 

That could also just be wishful thinking. 

He tells himself not to overthink it and lets the mindless chatter of the TV distract him. Today is proof that he’s been spending too much time overthinking. If he wants to sleep it off, he needs to keep this relaxed vibe he’s finally gotten himself into. So he doesn’t think about it. 

Which is why he’s a little surprised when Elia eventually does come in with Filippo’s little disco light in one hand and his busted speakers in the other. 

“What are you doing?” Filippo asks, before he can make it even two steps into the room. 

“The real question,” Elia says, “is what are _we_ doing. And the answer is we’re having a party.”

“I told you my speakers don’t work anymore,” Filippo raises a brow. 

Elia freezes from where he was setting his stolen items on the table and frowns down at the offending object. “Oh. I thought you were lying about that?”

Filippo frowns at him. “Why the hell would I lie about that?”

“Because you wanted company and you’re too emotionally constipated to just ask for it?”

“Oh, _I’m_ emotionally constipated?” Filippo asks, incredulous. 

Elia messes around with the light as he smiles. “Yes, Filo. Externally, you’re hot, but internally—ah, there we go—“ he gets the light going, “—internally, you’re a hot mess.”

Filippo scowls at him through the masses of colour now swirling around the room and ignores the rush of heat in his stomach that comes with the realisation Elia had just called him hot. It’s not a compliment most pretty straight boys dare to toss around, in Filippo’s experience, but they’ve already established that Elia is special. Filippo both appreciates and detests the thought. “So what is this we’re throwing, exactly, a judgement party?”

“No judgement, remember?” Elia points out. “But I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t make fun of you a little.”

“Wonderful.”

Elia rolls his eyes. “The first thing we’re going to do is stop the pity party. Then we’re going to have whatever alcohol you have in the fridge, and then you’re going to dance with me.”

Filippo’s throat dries up and his heartbeat quickens at the mere suggestion. “And why are we doing this, exactly?”

“Because. You miss partying, and I miss partying. It’s how we get out of our heads. And we’re lucky we both have someone to party with.”

“And what about my broken speaker?”

“You have a smart TV,” Elia points out simply, nodding at said appliance. “We’ll blast some music through that.”

“Sounds dangerous to my lease.”

“Filo,” Elia sighs, exasperated. “Are you in or not?”

Filippo considers him for a moment, then lets out a sigh of his own. “I’ll get the drinks.”

He should really recognise that the whole thing is a terrible idea. On some level, he does know this. He just also knows that he has no valid reason for turning Elia down. So he gets the drinks, and Elia starts the music, and after a few glasses Filippo forgets to know anything. It’s too easy, with the alcohol slowly spreading through his system and the pulse of the music and Elia’s blinding smile, to get lost in all the sensations. They move around the sitting room, literally dancing around each other and filling the space between them with slurred singalongs and too-loud laughter. 

They gravitate towards each other as if guided by a natural force until they’re truly dancing together. Filippo finds himself laughing delightedly as Elia grabs his hand and spins him around. As he turns around and dances with his back inches from Filippo’s chest. As he turns back and shimmies his arms out on either side of Filippo’s waist. He’s a ridiculous dancer, Filippo realises, but not awful. Careless enough with the thought of making a fool of himself that what he lacks in skill, he makes up for in enthusiasm. 

His hands drift up to settle on either side of Filippo’s waist, the touch mindless in his laughter, likely unaware that he’s now guiding Filippo’s movements, drawing him closer with every synced sway of their hips. They’re too close, and Filippo’s head is too fuzzy, and Elia’s lips are too enticing, and the space between them is suddenly disappearing and then Filippo is kissing him. 

He isn’t sure, at first, if it’s him that’s done it. But of course it’s obvious. His hands are resting on Elia’s cheeks, holding him in place, and his lips are moving first, but then Elia’s are moving back. 

_He’s kissing Elia, and Elia is kissing him back._

Filippo had forgotten what this feels like. The pressure of lips against his own, of hands low on his waist, of his head dizzy from alcohol and pleasure. Heat seeps into his stomach, clamors up his rib cage until he’s on fire with it, chest burning with contentment as he wraps his arms around Elia’s neck and sweeps his tongue over his lips and thinks _finally, finally, finally._ From what he does remember, kissing has never felt this good. 

So of course, it must come to an abrupt and sobering end. 

Elia makes a noise like a cut off gasp against his lips, and then he’s pressing his hand to Filippo’s chest and pushing him back. Filippo’s eyes shoot open to find Elia’s blown wide, but not with pleasure, he realises. With surprise. Not even surprise; he’s staring at Filippo in pure, unfiltered shock. 

“Filo,” he says quietly, “what—“

Filippo stumbles three steps back from him in an instant and begins rapidly shaking his head. “Elia,” he tries. “I’m….shit. Sorry, Elia. Fuck. Sorry. Sorry, sorry.”

He continues backing away as he speaks, raising his hands and clenching them in his hair in an attempt to ground himself. He squeezes his eyes shut and hears Elia repeat his name again, steadier now, ready to let him down gently, and Filippo can’t hear it. Not now. 

He whirls around and runs the rest of the way to his room, shutting his door behind him loudly and flipping the lock. He leans his head against the door and takes a shuddering breath, covering his face with his hands once more. 

“Fuck,” he says again, under his breath, before finally turning around and throwing himself onto his bed. He pulls a pillow over his face and resists the urge to scream. 

Of course, he doesn’t sleep a wink. 

~^~

Elia spends the night in a dazed, half-asleep state. 

He’d stood in the sitting room for an indefinite amount of time after Filippo had run from him, lightly brushing his fingers over his lips and willing his pulse to slow. In an almost robotic state, he’d shut off the music and the disco light before picking up the small mess they’d made. On the way to his bedroom, he’d paused at Filippo’s door and listened. His hand raised slowly in an attempt to knock, and then he’d quickly abandoned the idea. 

In his tipsy state, it was hard to comprehend what had happened and even harder to figure out why Filippo had run away. The conclusion he’d come to was Filippo viewing the incident as a drunken mistake and running away in horror. This is what left him struggling to sleep with a hollow chest, even as he brought his hand every so often back to his lips, as if he could replicate Filippo’s touch. 

Filippo’s kiss. 

He still manages a half sleep, because it doesn’t send him into a crisis the way one might think. Elia has only ever gone on dates with girls, and has only ever hooked up with girls, and has only ever had real crushes on girls—but this has come more from a lack of opportunity than a lack of interest. Elia has been noticing the way he looks at guys even since long before Marti’s revelation. He’d noticed it before, that is, but had ignored it until their friend had come out and he’d seen the idea of a boyfriend as an actual possibility. He’s given himself numerous nights to think about it, allowed his gaze to wander at school and on the street and at their various parties. He’s admitted it to himself, every time he’s looked at a guy and felt something stutter in his chest, stumbled over a little hitch in his breath. He’s known, for a long while, that he’s bisexual. He’s never had to do anything about it, but he’s mostly come to terms with it. He’s always told himself that he has time. 

He’d told Filippo, a while ago, that he’s not very good at expressing himself. He’s very aware of his issues in that department. It’s led to more than a few misconceptions of him. It’s mostly due to the fact that he struggles with them a little internally. It’s hard to express what he doesn’t quite understand himself. It makes him a little quieter about himself. So it makes sense that he hasn’t really known how to create an opportunity to tell anyone. 

But these _are_ feelings that he’s sure of. 

He’s known, since he first saw Filippo, that he was one of the people able to cause that little stutter in Elia’s chest. He’s assumed, for about a month, that this stutter is based on more than just a basic attraction. 

Filippo’s kiss is more than enough to confirm it. 

It isn’t until the next morning that Elia starts to consider it in a different light. He downs a glass of water before making himself coffee in an attempt to ease his mild headache. He’s doing his best to be quiet as he makes breakfast, not wanting to wake Filippo up. Half because he knows Filippo isn’t a morning person and would be extra grumpy if Elia actually woke him up and half in an attempt to delay the awkward conversation that is surely coming his way. 

When Elia is halfway through his own breakfast and Filippo still hasn’t emerged, however, he begins to grow suspicious. 

Then comes the realisation that Filippo had been the one to kiss _him_.

Of course, that still doesn’t have to mean anything. That could still be the very definition of a drunken mistake. Elia shouldn’t look into it. He shouldn’t accidentally take it to mean more than it does. 

But...what if it does mean something? 

Filippo isn’t one to run away, not in this way. If his kiss had truly been a drunken mistake, he would have stuck around long enough to laugh it off. He wouldn’t have let it fester. There’s also the possibility he’d known about Elia’s feelings, he supposes, but he’s sure then that Filippo wouldn’t have kissed him in the first place if that was the case. Filippo might not be much smarter than any member of the Contrabbandieri, on occasion, but he isn’t cruel. He would have, at the very least, stuck around to let Elia down with a longer-winded apology. 

The conclusion Elia comes to now is that Filippo is the one awaiting rejection. 

The conclusion leads him to the further realisation that Filippo is even dumber than he’d originally thought. 

He covers Filippo’s breakfast and sets it aside before creeping down the hallway to his room door. He pauses there and listens, waiting with baited breath and irrationally hoping that Filippo will come out on his own. After a full minute passes, he starts to feel a little ridiculous. 

With a steadying breath, he raises a hand and gives a quiet, hesitant knock. 

When this doesn’t get him a response, he repeats the motion, a little louder. 

“Filo?” 

Nothing. 

“Filo, even if you’re still half asleep, I know you can hear me. Can I come in? Please?”

Silence. 

Elia decides to test his luck, and tries the door handle. Locked. He thumps his head against the wood with a sigh and decides to try again. “Filippo, can you at least open the door?” He waits. “If you’re going to be stubborn, I can join you. I’ll just wait right out here. You’re going to have to use the bathroom eventually. And I bet you’re starting to feel the little effects of that hangover.”

After another few moments of silence, he’s ready to give up. He’s about to really sit on the floor in front of the room when he hears a faint shuffling from inside, and then the louder twist of the lock. He leans back just as the door swings up and presents Filippo, still in his clothes from the previous night and looking like he hasn’t slept. His eyes are dull and droopy and his dark hair unkempt, and it’s the utter lack of expression on his face that tugs at Elia’s heartstrings. 

Elia offers him a bright smile in place of any awkward openers. “Thank you,” he says simply. “Are you actually going to talk to me now?”

Filippo drops his gaze to his socked feet, which he scuffs against the floor as he speaks. “I don’t know that there’s much more to say. I truly am sorry, Elia. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Elia tilts his head at him. “Why?”

This earns him a few seconds of eye contact—long enough for Filippo to give him an incredulous look before fixating on a point over Elia’s shoulder with a scoff. “Please, for once, don’t act like you aren’t judging me. I know what it looks like, okay? The gay guy gets his hot, younger, straight roommate drunk and stupidly kisses him. I’ve said sorry. I shouldn’t have taken advantage like that, I know. I’m just sorry you don’t have anywhere to run, but I promise it won’t happen again.”

So, Elia had been spot on, the second time. For once, he’s not proud of the realisation. 

He drops his head back with a sigh, then looks at his roommate with a tiny shake of his head. “There is so much wrong with what you just said.”

Filippo finally looks at him, blinking, before slightly rolling his eyes. “Where am I wrong?” 

He sounds tired. Elia is caught between wanting to cuddle him back to sleep or kiss him awake. “First,” he raises a finger, “I was the one to suggest the party and the alcohol, so technically, I’m the one who got us drunk. Second, thanks, I’ve always wondered if I’m actually attractive to gay guys. Third, stop complaining about me calling you old man if you’re constantly going to act like there’s decades of time between us. Fourth, I’m not straight, fifth, I’m not the runaway, and sixth, I’m going to be really disappointed if you’re serious about that never happening again.”

Elia stands with a full hand splayed and his opposite thumb up as Filippo stares at him, dumbfounded. The sight is oddly pleasing. It’s the exact effect he’d been looking for. 

“Hang on,” Filippo says after a moment, shaking his head, still with a blank stare. “What?”

“I covered quite a lot there. You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“I think I need the whole thing again,” Filippo admits. “From the top. Slower.”

Elia sighs and drops his hands to his sides. “First, I was the one who suggested—“

“Yes, yes, I got that,” Filippo interrupts him. “I got it. Just—rewind. What do you mean you’re not straight?”

“I’m bi,” Elia shrugs. Filippo’s eyes widen. “Well, it’s not like I’ve actually kissed any guys or anything—or until last night, I hadn’t, I guess, but I still knew I could’ve wanted to, if the right guy came along.”

Filippo blinks at him again, and Elia gives him a moment to absorb. It’s slow, but Filippo’s shoulders finally begin to relax in increments. “So...you’re not mad. Disgusted? Annoyed? Confused?”

“Mad at myself for stopping you in the first place, disgusted that you think so little of me, slightly annoyed that you’re such a dumbass and incredibly confused that you’re not already kissing me again,” Elia raises a brow. 

His heart thrums as Filippo’s lips begin to turn up in a smile. He seems at a loss for anything else to say. So, very carefully, Elia raises his hands and sets them on either side of Filippo’s neck. He lets his thumbs lightly brush the underside of Filippo’s jaw as he steps in closer, leaving them toe to toe and chest to chest. Once Elia musters the courage, he brings them nose to nose, brushing against Filippo carefully as he breathes, “Can I?”

Filippo’s voice is thick as he answers, “Please.”

Their kiss had been enjoyable, the night before, but this one breaks all boundaries of a good kiss and soars into the area of life-altering. Filippo’s hands taking up a firm grip on his shoulders as he coerces Elia’s mouth open with his own is possibly the best thing he’s ever felt. The stutter in his chest turns into a kick and then a flap, and he realises it’s his heart flying excitedly around in his ribcage. It makes him more sure than ever that his feelings are true, and that this is _right_ , standing in the flat he shares with Filippo with the elder’s arms around him, tugging him in closer and licking into his mouth and swallowing him up in a shower of heat. 

He’s never kissed a guy before, but he’s very happy he gets to now. 

It’s Filippo, this time, who lightly presses him back, and a stab of worry shoots through Elia. The dazed smile and suddenly bright gaze Filippo offers him, though, quickly quenches his fears once more and gives him the guts to swoop in for another short kiss, nothing more than a closed-mouth peck that still has Filippo clinging tightly to his hair. 

“Elia,” Filippo gets out, “please. I need to know if you’re sure.”

Elia leans back enough to furrow his brows at him, even as the smile doesn’t leave his face. “Why would I have given my whole speech and kissed you again if I wasn’t sure? What is there to even be unsure about?”

“Does anyone actually know that you’re bi?” Filippo asks quietly. 

Elia’s shoulders slump and his smile slips. “Does that matter?”

“It does, if you don’t want them to. Or if it’ll cause you problems. I’m not saying I wouldn’t be willing to wait, to give you time, but you just need to tell me if that’s what you need. The last thing I want to do is to push you, or make you feel rushed, or hurt you. It just concerns me a little, that I thought you were straight until a few minutes ago and you seem to be very comfortably not.”

Elia...hadn’t really considered it this way. He realises, suddenly, that Filippo has years of maturity on him in more than just age. Elia has never even thought about how he would tell anyone, or what he would do if he did have a crush on a guy. With Filippo, he hasn’t spent much time really thinking about it. It’s just been a fact that Elia likes him, and with them constantly sharing the same space, he hasn’t had to think about what to do with him. Filippo has just been here, fully accessible, and Elia’s feelings have been allowed to develop and grow without any outside eyes. 

He shrinks in sudden insecurity, but his hands tighten their grip on Filippo’s shoulders. “I don’t know how I would tell my friends. But I know that they would be okay with it. So do you. Marti has already paved the way for me.” He shrugs, smirking, and the gesture earns him back a little smile. “But I’m not unsure about you. I wanted to dance with you last night and I liked it when you kissed me. I wanted to do it again. I still do. And it’s not just, some sudden fascination. I like you, Filo. I’ve liked you for a little while. I just never thought I’d get the chance to do anything about it.”

Filippo softens instantly, his tiny smile growing much wider, and Elia marvels at the warmth that spreads through him at the sight. “How long is a little while, exactly?”

Elia groans and drops his head onto Filippo’s shoulder with another little laugh. “I don’t know. A while. Does that matter, too?”

Filippo shrugs with an exasperated sigh. “I suppose not. As long as you don’t want to know how long I’ve liked you.”

At this, Elia perks up. He lifts his head again with narrowed eyes and most likely a too-big smile. “How long?”

“A little while.”

Elia punches his shoulder with another little laugh, but admits that he probably deserves it. “Well, we have another little while to figure things out don’t we? Perfect timing.”

Filippo bites his lip in a manner that portrays consistency, and Elia himself is able to recognise it as a nervous habit. He overestimates the movement on occasion, accommodating for a lip ring that’s no longer there. “That’s another thing,” he says quietly. 

Elia feels like he’s frowning a little too much for someone who just found out their crush likes them back. “What?”

“You don’t think it’s just a lockdown thing?” When Elia only blinks at him, Filippo continues, “You’ve been cooped up in here with me this whole time. I’m familiar. You haven’t gotten a chance to see other people or meet anyone new or hook up with anyone. What’s to say that once you have that freedom back, the novelty of me won’t wear off?”

Elia thinks he understands. “Filo,” he says slowly, “are you suggesting that I only _think_ I like you because I’m horny?”

Filippo flushes instantly, hands fluttering at Elia’s waist as he rolls his eyes. “Well, I wouldn’t have put it quite like that, but that’s the point I’m trying to make, yes.”

“Oh.” Elia hums. It’s a little funny, to think Filippo is serious about this, until he realises Filippo is serious. A little furrow forms on his brow as he drops his gaze to Filippo’s chest. “Do you think that’s why you like me? Or is that why you even kissed me in the first place?”

The despair is setting in quickly, but Filippo is faster. “No,” he denies strongly, shaking his head as he tilts Elia’s gaze back up to him. “Worldwide pandemic or no worldwide pandemic, I was on my way to falling for you. It’s not something I’m worried about because of me.”

“Then don’t worry about me,” Elia insists. Filippo seems dubious. “Filo, if you’re serious about me, think about how much more that means. I’m not the runaway,” he repeats. 

“Well, that’s another thing,” Filippo agrees, aiming for light and ending up a little too serious. “This isn’t something I’m good at, Elia. You—you are special. But I still don’t trust myself not to ruin things. On purpose or not.”

Elia gently shakes his head. “Like you said, you’ve had boyfriends. We know you’re at least capable of more than a one night stand,” he raises a brow, leaving Filippo scowling at him. “Then you get scared when they start to get to know you. But I already know you, and I like all of what I know. You just needed to find someone who’s just as stubborn as you. And I’m not going to let you push me away so easily.”

Filippo’s fingers twist in his shirt and pull him in closer, and Elia drops his forehead to rest against his. “I could’ve let us stew in awkward silence for days, after all, but instead I came and dragged you out,” Elia points out, with a quiet smile that Filippo finally matches. 

“You are stubborn, I’ll give you that,” Filippo murmurs. 

“We have time to test it. Why don’t we take advantage of that instead of letting it be the thing that scares us away? It doesn’t matter how much time it is. It’s another little while that we can just...take day by day.”

Filippo lets out a low hum. “I do quite like spending my days with you. Kissing might be a little bit of an extra bonus.”

Elia laughs. “Maybe we should test it out a little more then, just to see.”

Filippo doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s drawing Elia back into him in an instant, and Elia goes easily. He marvels, again, at how easy it is, how quickly they’re able to turn the tide and bring the other back to a state of peace. He can’t imagine that this slight alteration of their relationship will do anything but make it even easier. Filippo’s kiss now, though deep and toe-curling, leaves a calm washing over him that couldn’t possibly be ruptured. 

Except, apparently, by the low eruption of Filippo’s stomach. 

He lets out a quiet laugh against Elia’s lips which Elia drinks up before he fully pulls away. “As satisfying as you are, I think I’m dealing with another type of hunger at the moment, and I’m very much hoping you were still kind enough to make me breakfast.”

Elia grins and sneaks in another kiss. “See? You know me so well.”

Filippo shoves him off, then hesitantly reaches back for his hand before dragging them to the kitchen. Elia follows with a smile on his face that threatens to split his cheeks and more surety than he’s felt about anything in a long time. 

It doesn’t work like magic, and there are a few kinks right from the beginning, but Elia has definitely experienced harder trials. Filippo was closer to the mark than he expected, and their kisses simply become something of an added bonus to their company. Elia spends even less time alone, now that Filippo feels free to crawl into his bed even in the late hours of the night, when they still manage to trade sleepy kisses despite their dreams begging to drag them under. He gets more and more used to Filippo’s warmth, pressed along his side and on top of him and under him, depending on the occasion, but always wrapping him up and keeping him close. 

It doesn’t work like magic, but it comes pretty close, and they become familiar with it pretty quickly. Elia learns that there are still many things about Filippo that he doesn’t know, but it doesn’t worry him. 

They have plenty of time.


End file.
